


Double Check For Double Meanings

by ezwra



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Car Sex, Double Life, Fake AH Crew, Frottage, GTA AU, Grinding, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Unsafe Sex, idk how to tag this, theyre both verse and you cant stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:18:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezwra/pseuds/ezwra
Summary: When there's loving in the air,Don't fight it just keep breathing.I can't help myself but stare.Double check for double meanings.My Type - Saint Motel





	Double Check For Double Meanings

**Author's Note:**

> this had like five working titles and has been in the works since last september cause im lazy and bad

The bass and pulse of the music feels like it’s going to restart his heart.

The floor shakes under him as he waits in one of the backrooms, mask perched lightly over his face and arms crossed tightly over his chest. He’s been waiting for over an hour, now, and he’s getting rather impatient.

The door swings open (eventually) and another man steps in. he surveys the man carefully; no body armour, a simple shirt, some jeans, a mask. The man walks with the grace of a dancer but his muscles are tensed up tight, coiled like a spring and ready for action. The man’s heels click lightly against the tiled floor, echoing in the bare room.

He tilts his head and waits for the man to offer his part of the bargain first, but they seem to be stuck in a stalemate. The man just stands facing him, the briefcase held casually in his hand like it would be in a businessman’s clammy hand on the morning commute.

Only, the businessman wouldn't be carrying $500,000.

_ You first, _ the man signs carefully, sliding the briefcase down onto his wrist,  _ show me the drugs. _

He frowns, furrowing his brows under the mask before shaking his head and signing in return  _ money first, then the drugs.  _

The man huffs lightly, cocking his hip gently and resting his gloved hand on it before relenting. He drops the briefcase down with a clatter on the table between them and opens it up, spinning it around to face him. The man gives off an air of pure confidence and arrogance.

He looks inside the case and hums, narrowing his eyes before nodding and lifting his duffel bag up onto the table;  _ what _ , the other man signs, hand motions exaggerated,  _ no case? Rude. _

He opens the duffel bag up and takes out one of the wrapped bricks of coke, peeling it open and taking a knife from his belt before cutting the corner away. He lets it crumble back into the duffel, showing its authenticity.

The man takes the duffel, then the brick from his hand, not even wary of the knife in his other hand. He watches as the man salutes mockingly on his way out.

\--

Ryan twirls the blunt dinner knife point down on the table cloth, head held in his left hand as he watches the glint and shine of the stainless steel in the nice lighting. It’s almost eight at night, and his date said seven-thirty.

Ryan’s considering getting up and leaving when a hand slaps on the edge of the table and a man practically  _ launches _ himself into the chair opposite.

“Fuck, lord, I'm so sorry I'm late, love,” the man chatters nervously, Ryan finds it rather endearing, “a shoot went on a little long cause my boss is an utter  _ prick _ .”

Ryan smiles, shaking his hand and offering his hand to shake, tilting his head and letting his smile widen into a friendly grin, “Gavin, right? I'm glad you arrived, some of the waiters have been giving me both pity  _ and _ stink eye.”

Gavin laughs bright, his cheeks flushed nicely and his hair sticking up at odd angles that somehow suit the sharp lines of his face, “oh wow, I didn't know that was possible.”   


“Well, it is now.” Ryan chuckles too, watching as Gavin fidgets and toys with his shirt collar, the soft pink fabric wrinkling easily under the constant strain of his nimble fingers, “so, you’re an… actor?”

Gavin laughs again, grinning a little more relaxed as the seconds tick by, “no, god no, I'm a cameraman. I shoot slow motion scenes in action movies n’stuff…” he seems to grow a little sheepish, “what do you do?”

Ryan smiles kind, “I'm an ITA - internet technology architect. I generally just make stuff like The Cloud, or update them.”

Gavin’s mouth gapes open in childlike wonder, “oh shit, that’s cool! You’re like an ultra computer nerd!” Gavin slaps a hand over his own mouth, “fuck, i did not just say that.”

Ryan laughs loud and booming, then covering his mouth a little too when other patrons of the restaurant look over judgingly, “no, you’re right,” he smiles bigger, teeth showing, “I'm a big computer nerd, I'm not shy about it.”

“I'm mortified,” Gavin honestly  _ looks _ it, eyes big, “I'm just a little nervous, I'm so sorry, love.”

“Hey,” Ryan gently links their hands on the table, his own large warm one twining around Gavin’s cold fingers, gently petting the callouses and chuckling gently, “you’re a catch, don't be nervous. It’s not like I'm gonna bite you.”

“Even if i ask for it?” Gavin flushes even brighter, it seems like saying the first thing in his head is a common occurrence.

“ _ Maybe _ if you ask nicely,” Ryan smirks, trying to make things comfortable for him, letting a low chuckle rumble from his chest at the embarrassed flush creeping down Gavin’s neck, “but that’s for later. What do you like to do in your free time?”

\--

By the end of the dinner, Gavin has rather endeared himself to Ryan. 

Gavin’s funny, that much is obvious, but he’s  _ deceptively _ smart, smart enough to keep up with Ryan and catch him off guard, which he thoroughly enjoys. He's also pretty, the arch of his nose and the blue-green of his eyes complementing his skin tone and his face shape.

(“I'm half Italian,” Gavin explains when Ryan asks, gently sucking on the slice of grapefruit that comes with his gin - strangely pink - and pulling a face at the sharp tang, “on my mother’s side.”

“Yeah? Any mafioso?” Ryan asks jokingly, swilling his champagne to put off drinking the foul fizz.

Gavin laughs softly, tilting his head and smirking, “Wouldn't you like to know.”)

Ryan watches Gavin polish off his third gin of the night and chuckles gently, raising his brows, “you want a ride home?”

“If that’s no trouble, yeah,” Gavin grins sheepishly, gently wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “sorry, liquid courage n’all.”

“No worries,” Ryan lifts his hand and waves down a waiter to get the bill, “you’re gonna need to give me directions though, so stay conscious.”

“Let me just powder myself up in the bathroom then, love. I'll be right back.” he stands with a soft grin, fingers trailing on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan watches him go, raising a brow at how those jeans leave nothing to the imagination. He pays quickly, gathering their things up and waiting patiently.

Gavin returns a few moments later, cheeks flushed again and hair a little tamer, “ready to go?” Ryan simply nods and gives Gavin his phone, smiling kindly. 

They walk out to Ryan's car, a simple 4x4, and Ryan opens the door for Gavin, gently helping him up and in with gentle encouragements, and closes the door once he's safely in, quickly going to the driver’s side. He pulls out of the parking lot, watching in the rearview, before following Gavin’s directions.

“I, uh…” Gavin fiddles with his own fingers in his lap, “I had a really good time, rye.”

“Yeah?” Ryan smiles gently, “I'm glad you did. I did too.”

“Thank fuck,” Gavin laughs softly, rubbing his face and tilting his head back, “i thought i cocked it up in the first five minutes, to be honest - take a right here.”

Ryan follows the instructions, grinning, “nah, I really loved it. Id… id like to do it again some time.”

“Yeah?” Gavin faces him fully, “you sure?” his eyes flicker back to the road and he seems to pause for a second before continuing with, “turn left up the gravel path.”

Ryan nods with a gentle smile, turning down the road and slowly raising a brow, “there's no houses down this road, Gav.” he slowly comes to a park, they’re in the middle of a small wooded area now, the sound of the highway muted behind them.

“Or cars,” Gavin unclips his belt, letting it go back over his shoulder before turning to face Ryan fully, kneeling on his seat, “or people…” he reaches out, cold fingers trailing along Ryan's stubbled jaw. Ryan’s breath hitches gently, eyes going lidded as he watches Gavin carefully, lifting his own hand to gently wrap around his wrist, thumb pressed against his thundering pulse; the other man is nervous.

“Gav,” he murmurs softly, scared to break the focused reverie Gavin’s lost himself in, “what’re you doing..?”

Ryan raises his brows high when Gavin climbs into his lap gracefully, knees straddling his waist, and watches uselessly as he reaches down and adjusts the seat, pushing it back to make more room, “sitting in your lap,” Gavin whispers, his breath ghosting warm over Ryan's mouth. Ryan tilts his head back and closes his eyes, throat clicking when he swallows as Gavin trails his hands up his body, gripping the neat folds of his jacket, “kissing you.”

The press of Gavin’s lips shocks Ryan despite the little warning, and he flounders a little. His hands dance from the seat, to Gavin’s knees, then his thighs, then his hips and up and down his body. His fingers don't settle in one place, and his breath stutters out of his chest as he slowly relaxes into the kiss, but Ryan just can't make his hands stay  _ still _ .

Suddenly, Ryan understands what Gavin meant by liquid courage.

He sighs out soft and blissed out when Gavin breaks the kiss, the younger man’s hands gently settling over his and stilling them, “hey,” he croons, grinning softly, “I thought  _ i _ was meant to be the nervous one.” 

Ryan laughs shakily, shrugging and raising his brows, “I'm always one for a mix up…”

“Here,” Gavin laughs sweetly, linking their fingers, “we’ll go nice and slow…” he moves one of Ryan’s hands to his hip, letting his thumb settle in the divot where his hip is, his jeans a little loose, and moves the other to his hair, tangling the digits in the feathery locks. Ryan closes his eyes and meets the next kiss with a little more confidence.

It’s good, it’s  _ more _ than good. Gavin likes to bite and nip at his lips, occasionally gets distracted and kisses up to his temple and down along his jaw, but when he rubs his tongue behind Ryan's teeth Ryan can feel his heart pick up a faster pace. He lets his hand slide from Gavin’s hip and settles it on the curve of his ass, digging his fingers in a little and pushing his own tongue into Gavin’s mouth when he gasps and pushes back into his broad palm.

At some point, they move; now Gavin’s on his back, legs wrapped around Ryan's waist and tongue between his teeth as he grins bright, chest heaving with each breath. Ryan laughs down at him before kissing him again, one hand on his waist and the other planted firmly next to his head.

The kiss lasts until Gavin pulls at Ryan's hair and bites on his bottom lip, pulling gently with a low groan, hips canting up against Ryan's. He gasps and shudders, giving in for a moment and grinding down harshly into Gavin, falling into the heavenly glide of their bodies before shaking his head and separating, mouthing at Gavin's neck gently, “m’not gonna fuck you in my shitty car,” he mumbles against the warm skin, biting down and sucking a light bruise.

“your car's not shitty, Ryan,” Gavin pants, grinning relaxed and cat like, “It's lovely,  _ you _ 're lovely, Ryan. Lovely Ryan.”

“you're  _ drunk _ , and I'm…” he buries his face deeper into Gavin's neck, panting softly into the soft skin before dragging his lips up along his scratchy jaw, nosing behind his ear.

“you're..?” Gavin grips the back of his shirt.

“ _ awestruck, _ ” he whispers, a gentle rumble into Gavin's ear, “I'm afraid that once I start, I won't be able to stop. I'll devour you and keep you to myself,” Ryan drags his hand from Gavin's side along his thigh, fingers pressing into the back of it and massaging gently, pushing his legs open wider, “I wouldn't be able to restrain myself, hooked on my first taste…”

Ryan can feel the way Gavin trembles under him with the words, sucking in a small gasp before he grips Ryan’s shoulders, thighs flexing against his hips, “o-oh,” he tilts his head back, and Ryan drags his lips up and down the expanse of tanned skin, “w-well, if you continue talking like that, mr romantic, you probably won't need to fuck me.”

Ryan grins deviously down at him before carefully shifting their positions, slotting one of his thighs between Gavin’s and balancing one of his legs over his shoulder, exposing him more. He leans down and kisses the corner of his mouth softly, grinding his thigh down against Gavin and listening to him  _ mewl _ , “mhm, that would be nice, sending you home with your own come in your pants, too sensitive to even walk…”

Gavin’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He slaps his hand down from Ryan's shoulders to the seat, digging his nails into the tough material and gripping Ryan's bicep hard with the other. Ryan grinds down smoothly again, chuckling low, “what are you imagining, Gav? Are you on your back like this? Or, are you on your hands and knees, maybe even face down in the bed?”

Gavin shudders again, pushing up into the next grind, “o-on my back, your head between my legs to keep that pretty mouth busy…” he grins airily, eyes fluttering shut and a soft moan coming out.

“That sounds  _ divine _ ,” Ryan adds his hand into the mix, grinding his thigh deep while pressing his palm to the top of the bulge in Gavin’s pants, “I've always enjoyed my dessert before my dinner; what am I doing?”

“Blowing me…”

“Mhm, good…” he massages his thumb along the underside of the length of his cock, watching him whine and writhe, “I'd love to have your pretty thighs around my head, dove, I'd stay there for days before coming up for air.”

Ryan manages to grind his thigh down once more before Gavin comes, back arching bow-like and choking on his breath, scrabbling for purchase against the seat and Ryan's bicep, sure to leave some interesting bruises.

He gives Gavin a few minutes to come down, petting along the sides of his thighs to keep him grounded, before leaning down and kissing him softly, leading him to sit up with each soft press of their lips before raising the back of the seat, leaving them both a little hunched once Ryan lets Gavin’s leg down from his shoulder, “you good?”

Gavin laughs, “you're kidding right? Of course I'm good, that was  _ great.” _ Gavin reaches up and strokes through Ryan's hair, “if that happens after every date, i wanna go on another, like, right now. Is there a Taco Bell or a Chilli’s that’s open near here?”

Ryan laughs, “I'm sure there is, but you need to go home and sleep off your drink and, maybe, clean the jizz out of your pants.”

\--

It’s raining, and it has been for the last two days. The weather has been shit for too long and he has also been out here for  _ too long _ . 

He’s perched on the building across from his target’s apartment, hair matted to his head under the mask with the way it’s pelting down like nobody’s business. He adjusts his grip on the sniper in his hands and breathes steadily, keeping the tremors from his body so he doesn't fuck this up.

Someone enters the apartment. Go time.

He lines his shot up with the man’s head, tracking him through the apartment and nodding his head slowly, confirming to himself that, yes, the man is in the optimal position, and he should shoot. But he doesn't, he hesitates.

He hesitates, because someone else is in the apartment too, now.

He notices it offhandedly, the second shadow in the room, stood in the corner where the target can't see it. The man steps forward, and it’s the one from the deal, the one who bought the drugs. The man walks forwards - silently, if the target’s lack of reaction is any indicator - and pulls a blade from his belt, driving it into the man’s neck and twisting it harshly, blood pouring from the wound. The man lets the body collapse to the floor, shaking his hands out and wiping his knife on the man’s shirt. He drops something down onto the corpse where he's still twitching and writhing.

He frowns, shooting at the floor next to the man’s foot. The man looks up at him without flinching, salutes, and leaves.

Sighing, he sits up and folds his rifle away, shaking his head slowly in disappointment - in himself, and in the man.

\--

The man is a ghost. 

He’d like to say literally, because there's too many people claiming they’ve killed him to say it’s just people vying for fame, but he’s never believed in ghosts or poltergeists. He rubs his eyes, sighing, and follows the trail of kills. 

There's no pattern.

They're scattered around the world, some in russia a day or two ago, one in france the day before that, too many impossibilities for him to consciously decide that these are all one person. He digs a little deeper, finds that they all leave calling cards with their kills - the cops in each country seem to have their own regional masked villain.

Apart from the US. 

This one seems to have relocated, from around europe and the uk to the us, either to escape the long list of enemies and hits he's taken or just for a change of pace, but his calling card is in both places nonetheless.

Intriguing.

\--

Ryan wakes up slow, like he's swimming through molasses. He’s cosy, instead of the  _ too hot _ that usually comes with sleep. Sleeping with Gavin in the bed is like sleeping with an ice cube, and it’s more blissful than Ryan cares to explain. One of his arms is under Gavin’s head, bicep acting as a pillow, and his other is wrapped loosely around his waist, hand pressed to the soft skin of his tummy.

The sun has barely risen, pretty pinks and oranges shining through the half open blinds and highlighting the dustmotes and the subtle shine of Gavin’s hair. It’s the weekend, so neither of them have any responsibilities or plans. Ryan brings Gavin closer, nosing along the back of his neck and smiling sleepily.

Ryan feels Gavin stir and turn over, smiles at his fluttering lashes and the funny way his lips curl into a smile, “mhm…” he murmurs, grasping at Ryan's shirt, “morning…"

Ryan laughs softly, bringing him closer and tucking Gavin’s head under his own chin, “morning, Gav…”

Ryan strokes along his jawline, smiling softly and humming. Gavin practically purrs, leaning into the touch and wrapping his fingers around Ryan's wrist. Ryan smiles and cups his cheek, running his thumb along his high cheekbones, a gentle circle on his temple, fingers gliding through his silky hair.

“Sweet or savoury?” Ryan asks, smiling softly.

Gavin rolls onto his back, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back. Ryan pretends to not stare, trying to focus on his face rather than his lithe body, the way his borrowed shirt hangs from his collars and shows off his tanned shoulders, the hickeys and the bites.

“Ryebread, you’re staring…” Gavin grins, laughing, “you want something sweet?” he turns over and straddles Ryan, causing him to short circuit. Ryan’s hands go to his hips, pure instinct now. 

He gulps, he rubs the other man’s thighs through his flannel pants, “you’re always giving me something sweet…”

Gavin laughs, “sugar sweet,” he croons, leaning down and pressing their heads together.

“Gav,” Ryan chuckles softly, kissing his jaw, along to his cheek, “it sounds like you want pancakes.”

The younger man laughs, sitting up fully, “you know me too well, ryebread.”

\--

It’s raining again.

It seems to be a theme, poor weather whenever he tries to take a job, but he works through it. The rain slides in under his mask, leaves his hair matted against his forehead. He curls his hands into fists, leather gloves creaking in the quiet alleyway. 

He’s waiting for his tip off, a man is meant to give him some information - for a price, of course, this price specifically someone’s head (as usual, he thinks, why wont someone show some originality? Why can't they just ask for something like, a rare Pokemon card. They’re all over the black market).

The man arrives, he’s in a neat suit, slightly wet but he can see the limo he stepped out of at the mouth of the alley. The man is slightly older than he would have expected, grey hair thinning a little and tired wrinkles evident around his face, “hey,” he says, “you my guy?”

The man’s voice is more reedy than he expected, too. He nods, holding out his hand. The man walks forwards and drops an envelope down into it; it’s black, with a gold embellishment on it.

“If you want a permanent place with a crew or somethin’,” the man starts, sliding his hands into his pockets, “my number’s there too. No pressure, V.”

He nods and walks away from the man, walking deeper into the alley and down a few winding corners, reaching his bike and opening the letter.

The target is a man, a gang leader who’s quite high up in the food chain. They want it messy and obvious that it was them, a calling card also in the envelope.

He kicks the stand from his bike, revving the engine and driving to the location. It’s a small distance away, closer to the inner city, but he's able to find his way there quickly.

The tires shudder and squeal when he stops too sharply, sending a spray of rainwater up onto the pavement - a few passersby send him a dirty look, but the sight of his mask makes them quicken their pace. He turns the key and pulls it out, looking around the buildings before climbing off his bike and walking down the street, pushing his way into a bar. It’s not even four in the afternoon, but it’s packed.

He winds his way through the crowds, studying each face and smirking slightly under his mask when people begin to stare and whisper behind their hands, as if he can't hear them all. He pushes his way through the back door and into one of the refrigeration units, stacks of beers tightly wrapped in cellophane lining the walls, the metal of the caps and cans glinting in the sharp, white light on the ceiling.

He rounds the corner and pulls out a silenced pistol, quickly identifying the target and shooting all the people sat at the table with him, two men and a woman, all holding cards. Blood seeps into the green felt, and the target stumbles away with a shout, pulling out his gun.

Now, he knows he’s pushing his luck, but he can't help but stalk forwards slowly, the target shooting wildly. He’s lucky the target isn't a very good shot, but the intimidation tactic works  _ wonderfully _ , the target tossing his gun to the side and falling to his knees, hands clasped in front of his face and pitiful whimpers falling from his mouth.

“Please,” he begs, “please, please, please, don't kill me, i-I'll do anything!” the target pleads, tears streaking his cheeks and small eyes going as wide as they can get, “You want money? Drugs? I'll get ‘em for you!” he bargains.

He sighs and slides his gun away into its holster, carefully clicking the strap back over the top and clicking the button down. The target continues to beg and plead but he honestly doesn't care, drawing out a large knife from the casing on his calf, easily reaching at least eleven inches. The top side, where he places his thumb on the handle, has a vicious serrated edge, not completely dissimilar to a shark with its layered effect. The bottom edge is smooth and glints menacingly in the harsh lighting. 

The target looks up briefly and scrabbles back, bringing his arms up to cover his head, “fuck, god, please don't!”

He walks closer to the target, flipping the knife in his hand and grinning menacingly under the mask.

\--

Ryan’s cleaning up after their dinner (a badly cooked pizza that caused a minor argument about pineapple, and left cheese and flour  _ everywhere _ , not to mention the hand shaped flour prints on his ass and the tomato puree that’s still smeared along the edge of his jaw and the back of Gavin’s neck) when Gavin presses up behind him, elegant hands going to his hips and a chin balancing on his shoulder.

“Hello, there,” Ryan hums, smirking gently, “have you come to help me clean?”

Gavin laughs softly, and Ryan relaxes as his arms slowly wind around his waist fully, Gavin’s cold fingers pressing against an exposed strip of his abdomen when his shirt rides up, “no, of course not, just wanted to come say hello.”

“Ah,” Ryan laughs gently, he’s been doing that a lot more since they’ve been seeing each other, always smiling, “okay then. Hello.”

“Hello.”

Ryan scrubs at the bowl they mixed the dough in, humming tunelessly to himself as he carefully puts it on the drying rack, washing up the spoons and knives they used. Ryan can feel Gavin growing restless, knows he's looking for attention, much like a cat.

“Rye,” he whines, tugging himself closer, mouth against the hinge of Ryan's jaw. Ryan likes to think he’s able to resist Gavin’s wiles, more than able to keep himself sane while he cleans up, but it’s been a while since they’ve been together without someone’s job getting in the way, and Ryan can honestly say he’s feeling just as needy as Gavin, he's just less expressive about it (and  _ god _ , that always riles Gavin up, trying to get a reaction from Ryan).

Ryan slides a knife onto the drying rack, “yes?”

“Need you,” the hand sliding towards his ass tells Ryan  _ how _ , exactly, Gavin needs him, and he's more than eager for that, but he knows he needs to do the washing before he completely forgets about it, “I missed you, while I was gone. Couldn't sleep.”

Ryan raises his brows, turning around and grabbing a cloth to dry his hands on, looking down at Gavin with a soft grin, “surely you’re a little tired then, hm? Fooling around might not be the best…” 

Gavin presses closer and lets his hands slide to Ryan's ass directly now, fingers digging in as he grins softly, “you’re not sneaky, you’ve been staring at me since you picked me up from the airport,” he puts his hand on Ryan's cheek, and the taller man can't help but lean into it, “staring at my mouth, my ass, my hands - I know you've missed me as much as I've missed you.”

“Maybe so…” he relents, looping his arms around Gavin’s neck, “but I'm gonna need some incentive, I've got work early in the morning…”

Ryan raises his eyebrows higher and laughs slightly when Gavin tugs him forwards; Gavin spins them both and walks Ryan backwards to the kitchen table, he laughs softly when his lower back bumps into the table, “I'll be quick.”

Ryan laughs out, grinning big, “that’s reassuring, jesus.”

Gavin blushes and stutters, confidant facade slipping away, “hey, no, that’s not what I meant.”

He laughs again, curling his hand around the back of Gavin’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss. Gavin’s cold, as always, but he kisses like he’s on fire, always biting slightly and making it a little messier than needs be, but it’s so completely  _ Gavin _ that Ryan always loves it.

When they split, Gavin touches Ryan's face again, thumb brushing along his lower lip slow and gentle, “you’re so handsome…”

“Thank you…” Ryan grins, gently closing his mouth around Gavin’s thumb and winking at him. Gavin seems to short circuit, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing bright red as he stares back at him, jaw dropping very slightly.

Gavin snaps into action, then, and Ryan grins more. He slowly edges his hands under Ryan's shirt - 

\- and that’s when Ryan snaps out of it, slightly. He remembers the dark bruises spanning his chest, the distinct outline of a boot and a few rings in more tender shades of red and deep purple, and gently wraps his fingers around Gavin’s wrist. The bruises are too severe to count them as accidental.

“Sh-shirt stays on,” he says, tilting his head back slightly, “shirt on…”

Gavin nods and helps Ryan to his feet, hands gentle on his hips, “okay, that's fine, let's just,” he motions uselessly to the door to the bedroom, “let's go, yeah? Wanna lay you out all comfy, make you feel good…”

Ryan gulps a little before nodding, smiling slightly, “yeah, sounds good…”

They start to walk over to the bedroom, until Gavin gets bored, kissing him gentle and deep and forcing them to stumble the rest of the way, occasionally leaning against the walls and grabbing at each other.

Once they reach the bedroom, the door shuts with a gentle click.

\--

Gavin is going to be home late. It’s holiday season, and while half of the planes are being delayed because of the piss poor weather, the other half are completely booked, so there’s no alternate way home for those stuck in the airports.

The first day, Ryan isn't worried. Flights get delayed all the time, he’s suffered many hours of sleeping in airports because of missing a flight or the pilot not even turning up some days, having to wait until the next day to return home. They started off with regular texts to entertain each other; Ryan knows Gavin can't play his phone games for long, and he had lamented earlier on in the week during the planned trip that he had forgotten his DS in his bag of electronics. So it’s up to Ryan to entertain him, and he’s forced to text him silly photos and the piles of dirty laundry left on the bedroom floor to tempt Gavin into an earlier return home to clean. Gavin had warned him in a brief text, too, that the weather would probably mean he would be later than he had first predicted (although Ryan’s never been able to understand tone through messages, and the short  _ plans have changed, will be another day or two x  _ made him a little nervous, especially with the lack of emojis or abundance of kisses), so he didn't worry. 

The second day, Ryan worries. He can't help it, he hasn’t been alone for this long outside of schedule for a long time, and it’s a little bit nerve wracking for him. He's unsure as to what he should do, whether he should cook a meal for himself, if he can even make a meal for one anymore, or if he should clean and do laundry. The lack of direction is probably what’s throwing him off the most, so he just tries to focus on what he’ll do with Gavin when he gets back.

The third day, comes as a strange continuation of the second. He’s unable to sleep the previous night, so he’s left just watching the time go and checking his phone every few minutes. The exhaustion seeps any coherent thought from his mind, and he feels the tiredness deep in his bones, more than he has for a long time. The sun rises, and the snow causes it to reflect uncomfortably into his eyes, so he goes around the house shutting all the curtains.

It’s too reminiscent of the house before Gavin moved in - dark and silent and lonely.

There’s snow pouring down outside, so Ryan had kind of expected a later return than the days without snow, but not by this much, not three days, nearly four now. Ryan stops in the middle of the hall, forcing himself to breathe (in for seven, out for eleven, he can imagine Gavin’s hands on his shoulders keeping him grounded during the breathing exercises) before walking into the kitchen slowly, socked feet padding lightly on the tiles. The fridge opens. The fridge closes. Ryan leans his head against the cold fridge door and sighs out shakily.

There’s a strange sort of catharsis that comes from sitting on the kitchen floor and leaning his head against the bottom cupboards. He listens to the whirring and whining of the old dishwasher, and how the cutlery inside rattles around a little too much to not be worrying. Ryan’s phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, but he's too tired to get up and answer it.

He must have dozed off, because a few hours later he’s being shaken awake by Gavin.

“Ryan,” he says, brows raised high. Ryan opens his eyes slow and looks up, sucking in a sharp breath when he realises who it is and suddenly his heart is practically bursting because it’s  _ Gavin _ , Gavin’s  _ home  _ and  _ safe _ and Ryan can't help but pull him down into a desperate hug, more of a tight grip, “oh.”

“I was worried,” Ryan huffs, hugging Gavin a little tighter, “I was so fucking worried,” he pulls away, touching at Gavin’s face and tilting it side to side, furrowing his brows and slowly touching his thumb against a nasty black eye that’s spreading across his temple and down along the sharp arch of his cheek; it looks painful and the different colours mix together like some sick sort of watercolour painting, “what happened?”

Gavin sighs softly, sitting down on the tiles next to him, “there was a bit of a panic on the flight back because of the redirection, I took a misplaced elbow to the face,” he grins soft and soothing, “but don't worry, the other guy was much worse off.” something about the way he says it tells Ryan that he might not be lying.

Ryan furrows his brows and pulls a face, taking one of his hands, “that sucks,” he says simply, it’s the most he can say without getting too emotional and potentially saying something he might regret.

“You look knackered, rye,” Gavin lays his head on Ryan’s shoulder, and Ryan smiles weakly, “did you miss me?”

He sighs and wraps an arm around Gavin’s waist, fingers pressing against his hip bone and tracing along it slowly, “of course I did, how could I not miss my favourite cuddle partner?”

“You see, Ryan,” he perks up, ”this is why we need to get a cat!”

Ryan rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet, raising a brow at the wet footprints tracked through the hall and the snow and slush slowly melting on the fibres, “you’re enough of a cat for me already, trackin’ shit through the house.”

Gavin clambers to his feet too, using the dining table to pull himself up and stop himself from slipping around because of his wet socks, “no, Ryan, we need a furry little friend!” his bright smile almost tempts Ryan into considering it.

“We’ve talked about this Gav,” he says, exasperated and tired but so fucking fond that Ryan grins tiredly anyway, slowly walking to the fridge and rubbing at his own neck as he pulls the handle and opens it up, “have you had something to eat?”

“No,” Gavin says, and when Ryan turns he can see the way he holds himself awkwardly, as if more than just his face is bruised, “but you don't have to cook anything, it’s late, and we’re both tired.” he’s trying his best to be courteous, so Ryan just rolls his eyes.

He turns back around and scans the fridge, rubbing his bicep carefully before taking out some packaged meats and spreadable cheese, “a sandwich, then.”

Gavin walks over, and Ryan turns around slowly when he feels the gentle tug on the back of his shirt. The younger man presses a soft kiss against his mouth, one of his hands sliding onto Ryan’s face, and Ryan tries to stop the tiny smile from showing on his face. There’s a few more moments of quiet kissing, until Gavin giggles softly and pulls away, “I missed you, rye bread, I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too,” Ryan sighs out, running his thumb along the bottom edge of the bright shiner, “go take a shower, I'll make you something to eat and we can go curl up in bed.”

Gavin nods quickly and pecks his lips again, grabbing his duffel bag from the dining table as he steps back, “thank you, love. You’re the bestest.”

“Your english never fails to astound me.”

\--

Gavin dumps the shopping bags down unceremoniously, groaning and tipping his head back, “I'm  _ knackered, _ love. What time is it?”

Ryan grins and rolls his eyes, going into the kitchen and under the sink to grab some brushes and paint rollers, “barely even ten in the morning - can you go grab the linens from the closet?”

He drags the items from the cupboard and listens to Gavin’s feet thudding up the stairs quickly, walking into the hallway as he returns with the sheets, “do we have to do this now?”

“It’s the only time we’re both gonna be around for more than a few days, and you said you’d help.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, “I still don't remember that, but if we have to.”

Ryan nods and smiles, dropping his armful down onto the coffee table and taking the linens from Gavin. He works at covering the carpet and furniture in sheets to prevent any stains while Gavin lines up all the different paint pots. The house has needed a fresh coat of paint since well before Ryan moved in, but he could never find the motivation to do it.

But now that Gavin’s moving in, well. It only seems right that they do it together.

Gavin looks down at his own clothes before shrugging and taking off his hoodie, leaving him in an old shirt that looks  _ suspiciously _ like it belongs to Ryan. He doesn't say anything, but he sends a knowing look at Gavin, who just smiles bright and radiant in return.

Ryan grabs a brush for each of the tins of paint, ranging from pastels to bright shades. Gavin chose mostly metallic, minimalist colours, while Ryan picked out soft blues and greens to make up for the lack of colour in any part of los santos.

Ryan watches as Gavin pops open the first tin, a shimmering grey, and dips his brush in, looking to Ryan with his brows raised before he paints a wide, drippy smear on the wall. The smell fills the room quickly, and the colour is…

“It’s a little dark,” Ryan comments, cracking open his own tin, “but its not bad. Maybe for the bedroom? We get more light in there.”   


“You must have been an interior decorator in your past life, or summat.”

Ryan laughs, “obviously.” he paints his own line, much neater, on the wall. It's one of the darker greens, but it's nice. He puts the brush on the tin’s lid and opens the next one, going at it with a fresh brush. When he next looks over at Gavin, he’s painted a giant beige penis on the wall, “mature,” Ryan grins.

“Well, yeah!” Gavin paints another penis, eggshell blue this time, “the best dick is the colour we should go with.”

“I'm sensing some flaws with this method.”

Gavin groans and smirks, “Oh, have some fun with it, ryebread!” he opens another tin, “my other option was to just, y’know, fling handfuls of paint until the wall is covered, but I felt you were too vanilla to understand my methods.”

Ryan scoffs and folds his arms, “I am  _ not _ vanilla.”

“Oh no, love, it's not a bad thing,” Gavin smirks more, wicked and scheming, but Ryan's already drawn in, “I love that you're so tame. It’s cute.”

He narrows his eyes and hums, crouching down and opening one of the last tins, testing it against the wall. He stays there for a few moments before dipping his hand into the paint, a beautiful pastel purple, and flicking it at Gavin. It splatters on his jeans and shirt, a few drops on his face, and he gasps. 

“Oh, wow,” he grins with his brows raised high as soft violet drips onto the old linens underfoot, “I'm shocked, are you rebelling? Are you flinging paint and raging against the machine?”

Ryan barks out a laugh, “if the machine is you calling me vanilla, then yeah!”

Ryan watches as Gavin crouches down too, wiping his own hand on the linens to stop the paint from drying and crusting up on his fingers, “Ryan, I mean this with all the love from the bottom of my heart, I'm  _ very _ sure that the least vanilla thing you have ever done is flick paint at me.”   


He passes Gavin the screwdriver for the last tin of paint, looking at all the different colours (and penis sizes, seriously, how could there be so  _ many _ ), “well, you’re wrong.” he turns and searches through the bags, humming softly.

“Am I really?”

“Yeah,” Ryan turns back around with one of the smaller cans of paint, cracking it open quickly and pouring it over Gavin’s head, “I've done that.”

It seems to be purely shock that’s keeping Gavin from leaping up screeching, and Ryan can't help but hoot and holler at his expression, pretty mouth open wide and dark red paint matting his hair down to his forehead, covering his eyes and dripping onto his shoulders. When a wet hand smears against his face and down his neck, Ryan stills in shock. They lock eyes for what seems like eternity, paint dripping from Gavin’s bangs and pooling on Ryan's collarbone, but it's only a few seconds until Gavin’s leaping at Ryan with more paint and they’re rolling around like kids.

Ryan dips his hand in the grey paint and shoves his hand under Gavin’s shirt, making him yelp and laugh out a stuttery “cold, cold, cold!” before he grabs one of the brushes he left in the tin and shoves it in Ryan's pants, painting all over the inside of his jeans and his left thigh. He recoils and laughs out, grinning down at Gavin and smearing the paint away from his face, pushing his sticky hair back and kissing him deep. Their faces stick together a little, and Ryan uses it as a chance to make Gavin even messier, but they only press closer while they laugh against each others’ mouths. 

Gavin pulls away after a few more kisses, laughing and pressing his wet nose against the crook of Ryan's neck with a smile, “I love you.”

Ryan sighs and smiles, bringing Gavin closer and kissing him again. It slowly deepens, pushing and pulling like the tide crashing against the rocks; Gavin occasionally biting and tugging and causing a clash of teeth and tongues, before Ryan slowly pets through Gavin’s hair (as sticky as it is) and deepens it, tongue mapping out each of the brit’s teeth meticulously.

“Lube,” Gavin murmurs against Ryan's mouth. He raises his brows and lets out a soft  _ hm? _ in response before Gavin grabs at Ryan's thigh, thumb pressing on a tender bruise. Ryan flinches and groans, frowning at the intense mix of pain and pleasure before kicking one of his legs out towards the coffee table, the sole of his shoe knocking against it

Gavin takes the hint and turns around, tugging open the drawers of the table. Ryan presses himself up against Gavin’s back, mouthing along the curve of his neck and his shoulder to distract him. Ryan’s a pest and he knows it.

“M’covered in paint,” Ryan says, grey and purple hands gripping Gavin’s hips vice tight, “don't think I'll be able to open you up…”

There’s a shrug and a laugh before Gavin turns around, pushing Ryan onto his back, “guess I'll have to open myself up, or maybe I should stretch you out instead, leave you all sloppy…”

Ryan blushes and almost keens at the thought, nodding as he kicks his shoes off and pushes at his pants and boxers, letting them land in a heap hopefully near his shoes. He reaches up and tugs at Gavin’s shirt, unveiling the grey handprint smeared from his shoulder blade down around to his lower ribs, matting some of his chest hair. Ryan presses his hand against the lowest point of the paint smear, slowly following it up and smudging some of the still-wet parts; he uses his hold to gently pull Gavin down into another slow kiss.

He revels in the way that Gavin shudders and bites at his lower lip. Ryan can feel the way the younger man;s toes curl against his calves. He bends one of his knees and brings Gavin closer, shoving Gavin’s pants and boxers down; only after that does he let his hands grasp at his beard and fingers tangle in it slightly, pulling at it meanly, “c’mere, you’re so far…”

Gavin leans down and presses a teasing kiss to the corner of Ryan’s mouth, so he huffs and pulls him down harshly to kiss him fully. His legs slowly rise up more and link around Gavin’s hips, but he flinches slightly in surprise at the cold press of Gavin’s lubed fingers. Ryan raises his brows and kisses a little deeper at the first firm push, taking Gavin’s fingers with little more than a few shudders and a small sigh.

“You’re always so tight, love,” Gavin murmurs against Ryan’s mouth, adding a third finger a little too quickly but the stretch and burn is  _ good _ . 

The comment makes something sad bubble up in Ryan, though, a lump rising in his throat as he brings Gavin into another kiss (it’s more like a desperate press of their mouths, but any contact is good contact for Ryan right now), “I miss you when you’re gone for so long,” he says, panting a little and setting one foot on the floor to alleviate the cramp in his thigh. 

“I'm sorry,” Gavin sighs, frowning and pulling his fingers out slowly before kissing him again, both his hands coming up to hold Ryan’s face, wet fingers curling around the back of Ryan’s neck. He doesn't even care, popping the cap on the lube with one hand and messily spreading it on his hand to warm it up and grasping at Gavin’s cock. The sudden pressure makes Gavin gasp and shudder, and Ryan smiles softly.

“It’s okay,” he kisses the corner of Gavin’s mouth, “it’s okay, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Gavin presses in slowly after more groping and making out, his thumb on Ryan’s bottom lip and pulling down slightly. It’s slow-going, since they rushed the prep, but Ryan doesn't care; he tilts his head back and grins a little as the dull pain turns to pleasure. Gavin’s cock is of an average thickness, but the length is nothing to laugh at, and it seems endless as he sinks in without pause.

Simply, Ryan whispers a soft  _ Fuck _ as their hips meet and Gavin bottoms out, toes curling in the old linens and his hand pressing against Gavin’s where it’s pressed against his abdomen, slowly rucking his shirt up to expose faint scars and a single faded bruise. Gavin presses it gently, his other hand bringing one of Ryan’s thighs closer to his, increasing the pressure ever so slightly, “sometimes,” Gavin starts, voice a little strained as he rolls his hips slowly, “i like to think-”

“Don't hurt yourself,” Ryan grins and lets out a shaky laugh, gasping slightly and hissing through his teeth at a harsh thrust that brushes past his prostate.

“Quiet,” Gavin says, eyes narrowing a little. He rolls his hips deeper before pulling out to halfway, “I think about the first time i got you like this, on your back with your legs open for me.”

Ryan blushes bright and tilts his head into the palm on his cheek, huffing out slightly as he rocks his hips slow and careful, “you don't need to sweet talk me, Gav, you’re already in my ass…”

“Not sweet talkin’,” Gavin laughs, “just talkin’ to you. I like making you blush.”

He opens his mouth to say something in return, but another close brush to his prostate makes him stammer and stumble over his words, a shaky muttering of soft pleads. It takes him a moment to collect himself, but when he does he notices that Gavin is just staring with an awestruck look on his face, eyes practically glittering. Ryan blushes more, panting and deciding to clench around him to remind him to keep moving, “the fuck are you looking at?”

“You’re beautiful,” Gavin says, he sounds too honest, it makes Ryan’s heart beat faster. He reaches up and pulls Gavin down into a soft kiss, the paint on Gavin’s face a little drier now and causing them to stick together slightly, their cheeks peeling when they separate and Ryan’s hand coming away stained red.

“This was impractical,” Ryan says instead of acknowledging what Gavin said, reaching down to palm at his straining cock, “we’re gonna flay each other by the end of this.”

Gavin speeds up, the steady thrusts of his dick distracting them both from continuing the conversation. Ryan goes more and more frustrated each time Gavin barely brushes his prostate, too many near misses stacking and causing him to let out a shaky groan, “Gav, i swear to god, you need to work on your angles.”

“Like i don't know what I'm doing,” Gavin laughs, smirking as he lifts one of Ryan’s legs and pulls it onto his shoulder, “ask me nicely.”

Ryan furrows his brows and grits his teeth, glaring up at him, “Gavin, please work on your angles,” a sharp thrust, making him yelp embarrassingly, “jesus, okay, fine!” he pants and tilts his head back a little, trying to force the hot flush from his body, “please,” he says.

“Louder.”

“ _ Please _ ”, he says again, panting and rocking his hips, “please fuck me, jesus christ, please make me cum.”

For a few moments, Gavin stays still, and the embarrassment floods his body to the point of combustion. He opens his mouth to frown at him, but then Gavin has him bent knees to ears and his his hips are pistoning in and out rapidly. He covers his mouth for the first half a dozen thrusts, Gavin’s cock pressing against his prostate each time, but then he can't hold it anymore and he's moaning brokenly for it. Gavin kisses him again, and takes over on dick stroking duty to bring Ryan to the edge almost too quickly, the pleasure peaking sharply and leaving him shaking. His toes curl and his back arches and he paints his stomach white with cum between them.

Gavin hunches a little; Ryan knows the feeling, he can remember intimately the feeling of Gavin pulsing around his own cock, and the thought forces a rush of too-soon arousal to flood his system and make his softening cock twitch valiantly. He strokes through Gavin’s hair, the ends a little dried now, and tugs it sharply when Gavin presses against his prostate again.

“Fuck, fuck, c’mon,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against his temple, furrowing his brows and shuddering at the hot rush that fills him.

Gavin pulls out and flops to the side after a few moments, huffing and scratching his happy trail. Ryan rubs his face and stretches his legs out, groaning softly as his knees crack. His toes curl and he rolls onto his front, “we need to shower,” he murmurs, growing more and more conscious of the drying paint coating both of them (Gavin more so, he notes with a smirk) and cracking with each shift of their bodies.

Gavin laughs sleepily, “if we didn't have white sheets, I’d fight you on that.”

Ryan tugs himself to his feet, grunting and stretching out his back a little before carefully grabbing his clothes. He turns to say something to Gavin, but he looks distracted by something, “what?”

“You, um,” he blushes and thins his lips, looking away, “you’re a little… cummy.”

Ryan blushes and pulls a face, pulling some boxers on, “that’s disgusting, Gav.”

“No,” Gavin says, standing slowly, “I mean... it’s hot.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and walks away to the bathroom, smiling to himself, “okay, Gavin.” he listens to Gavin’s feet stomp after him on the carpet and smiles more.

\--

He wipes his knife clean as he steps away from the body. He’s in an alley in eastern Los Santos, neon lights reflecting in the puddles that are left over from the last few storms that passed through. It’s too cloudy to see the moon clearly, but the eerie grey glow shines through anyway, casting ghostly silhouettes and shining down in stark contrast on the body. The white of the victim’s bones, exposed in a jagged break in his left forearm, almost glow.

He finds it strangely beautiful, like a graveyard in the fog.

He drops down the calling card - the same crew from before, because they're the only ones he can vaguely trust anymore, but he doesn't expect it to last. He walks down the alley slowly, boots thudding ominously, and takes out his keys for his bike.

Someone else walks into the alley.

They're tall and lean, he vaguely feels like he can recognise them but he can't place it; the dark, yet fashionable, clothing indicate the person is probably very wealthy, maybe another criminal.

_ He was my target, too. _ The other man signs, gloved hands methodical with each sign. The person is definitely a criminal, then.

He shrugs, sliding his knife away and signing  _ you snooze, you lose. _ The man doesn't take to kindly to that, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides, but he can't see under the sleek mask at how furious he might be.

Whoops.

The man swipes at him first, fast and accurate, but he was expecting it. The man’s fingers brush his jacket, thumb breezing past the chin of his mask, and he grabs the thin wrist, fingers wrapping around it tight enough to feel the bones clench and grind slightly. The man jabs forwards with two fingers out, going for the mask holes, and he flinches back in response. 

He isn't completely on the offensive with this. He’s just finished a long job, his muscles hurt and he wants to go home, so he focuses on bringing his arms up to deflect each hit, bringing his hands down to knock away any kicks or lighter punches. The man grows more and more frustrated, and he isn't expecting it when the man jams his shoulder against his sternum, sending him sprawling to the floor.

The man climbs onto him and wraps his fingers around his neck. He struggles, scratching at the man’s wrists and kicking his legs harshly, getting him with the toe of his boot in the back occasionally. The man doesn't budge, so he goes for his face.

He slaps and scratches at his face, the tips of his fingers hooking under the mask and dislodging it severely, exposing-

_ Oh _ .

He sees his chance when  _ the man _ struggles to bring it back down with one hand. He strikes at  _ his _ elbow and shoves  _ him _ away roughly, scrambling to his feet after and running down the alley to his bike.

He can hear  _ his _ footsteps behind him, determined, but he revs up his bike and speeds up without another look back.

He doesn't slow, he doesn't pause, he drives faster and faster around the city until the highway leads him out into Blaine County, the sand pinching at his exposed neck as he speeds up. The road stretches out endlessly, and he feels himself stretch out too.

\--

Gavin arrives home from a  _ business trip _ , and it’s still quiet. 

Ryan can tell that he’s skittish, that he's nervous about  _ something _ (god, he wishes he didn't know what he was nervous about) but when Ryan asks, he doesn't say anything.

It’s at least a week since Gavin returned home, and Ryan’s rooting through the fridge, searching for something to eat, when Gavin comes around the corner and slowly pushes the fridge shut. There’s a bruise on his wrist.

“Love, I…” Gavin frowns, eyes flicking around the room but never landing on Ryan for more than a few seconds, more focused on the rain outside, “I wanna apologise.”

Ryan frowns, furrowing his brows and rubbing his bicep, “for what?” all Ryan wants to do is wrap the other up in his arms, holding him so tight and loving, and just escape from Los Santos for good.

Gavin cracks his knuckles slowly, a bad nervous tick, so Ryan covers his hands gently to stop him, “I've been a real moody git recently, a-and I'm really sorry for that. I…” his mouth screws up even more, and Ryan wants to kiss it away, “something happened at work, and I… I'm a little nervous about it, about what… what it could mean.”

Ryan just stares, eyes wide.

“I love you,” Gavin says, “a lot.”

Ryan scans his face more, the tired smudges under his eyes and the frown lines on his forehead. He gently runs his thumb along Gavin’s forehead, smoothing out the lines slowly, before cupping his cheek and kissing him softly,  _ tenderly _ , closed mouth and innocent and desperate to show Gavin that he understands, he’ll always understand and he’ll always love him.

“I love you too,” Ryan murmurs against the corner of Gavin’s mouth, feeling his slow smile and revelling in the feeling of knowing he made that smile, he made Gavin happy for a few moments in this shitstorm. Ryan slowly winds his arms around Gavin, one hand threading into the back of his hair and his other hand resting between Gavin’s shoulder blades.

Gavin stiffens in his arms slightly before melting into it, his own hands fisting the back of Ryan's shirt.

They stand there like that for a while, swaying slightly and listening to the pounding rain outside, thunder echoing in the distance. Every few moments, Gavin will press closer and nose at the crook of Ryan's neck, warm breath making him shiver and laugh. Ryan slowly slides his hands to the backs of Gavin’s thighs, and the younger man jumps up when he catches the hint. He catches Gavin and lifts him up carefully, holding him close and tight to his own body. Ryan smiles when Gavin presses closer, slowly walking to the living room. He lays back on the couch with Gavin on top of him and pulls the blanket from the back of the couch over both of them.

Wherever Gavin’s skin touches Ryan, it’s soothingly cold. He pets through Gavin’s feathery hair and smiles tiredly.

\--

_ He _ won't stop showing up wherever he goes. It’s… unnerving, to say the least.

He does his best to ignore  _ him _ ; he leaves whenever  _ he’s _ there, minimises all contact and takes less jobs, spends more time at home or in a separate safe house trying to work out if what he saw was true or not. Searching and hoping and praying to whatever cruel god there is that it’s not true, its just a coincidence. 

He can't stop thinking about whether this was all a hoax, though. A long con all with the end goal of taking him out. Maybe  _ he’s _ been lying this whole time, playing him like a fucking fiddle and making everything that little bit more bittersweet. Its a terrifying thought, if its true. 

He prays, night and day, that it’s not true.

\--

_ Just thought i’d warn u, some1 put out a hit on u, get out of town ASAP - BM _

He looks down at his burner, frowning heavily and sighing out before sliding the phone away. He grits his teeth, revving his bike and speeding up down the highway.

_ What do i tell Gavin? I don't want to leave for long. _

_ What if someone knows where I live? They might know about Gavin. _

_ Who took the job? Is it someone more skilled than usual? _

_ Maybe I'll tell him it’s a tech conference. Isn't there one in Paris soon? _

He pulls up next to his house quickly, leaving the motor on his bike running as he jogs inside and grabs his go-bag from the hall closet. He looks around for more of his stuff, grabs his personal phone from the kitchen table (he sees a photo of him and Gavin on the wall, both of them on a nice trip out of the city, and feels his heart ache. He remembers what Gavin’s told him about being left alone, and it’s easy to decide that he’d fight through heaven and hell if it meant that this would finish up faster) before jogging back outside. He climbs back onto the bike and drives deeper into the city. 

Twenty minutes into the ride, he realises he’s being followed. He spies the bike in his rear view mirror; he keeps an eye on it for a few minutes before diverting down an alleyway. He has to slow down a little, but he’s able to go winding down some corners and give himself some time.

Until he hits a dead end.

He curses, looking around before jumping off his bike. He keeps his bag on as he climbs up a ladder on the wall next to the bike, taking the rungs two at a time. He hears the bike swerve to a stop below, looks down quickly. 

It’s  _ him _ .

He curses and speeds up, flinching when a bullet hits the wall next to his hand. He pulls himself up over the edge of the building, rolling back in time to dodge the next bullet. He rushes off, dodging between chimneys and jumping across the smaller gaps to try and build more distance from  _ him _ .

It’s the most cardio he's done in a while, his chest is burning and his boots aren't really prime running attire, the top edge rubbing painfully against his ankles. He should have worn his good socks.

Another shot cracks against the floor next to his foot, and he drops his bag in surprise. He turns, facing  _ him _ ; a light drizzle starts up, adding an eerie glow to the street lamps below. He pants and looks around frantically, trying to find a safe way to disengage and escape, prevent this from getting any further.

_ He _ takes out a knife, holding the blade side out towards him in his other hand.  _ He _ isn't as breathless, which doesn't surprise him; he dodges the first kick, frowning heavily behind his mask.

“You’re not that easy to find, you know,”  _ he _ says, grin clear in his tone, “but i tracked you from your last job, I'm getting a pretty penny for this.” 

He looks side to side carefully without turning his head, looking for a quick way out. Maybe there’s a bike in the street down there.

_ He  _ clenches his hands into fists slowly, shoulders hunching as he tenses, “you don't have to say anything, i understand it can be quite hard to look at your own death.”  _ he _ steps forwards, drawing a knife from the sheathe on his hip, flipping it around his fingers deftly.

Another knife in  _ his _ other hand, and suddenly  _ his _ slow steps have turned to a quick rush forwards, shoes slapping against the inch of water pooling on the whole roof. The first swipes of  _ his  _ knives are too close for comfort, he can barely lift his palms up in time to knock away  _ his _ hands by the wrists.

He continues deflecting and pushing swipes away, eventually giving  _ him _ a firm shove before dashing back a few steps to put some space between them.  _ He _ launches one of the blades with an enraged shout (he remembers teaching  _ him _ how to do that, the importance of balanced knives and the right grip and how it had ended passionately), and he can barely dodge out of the way fast enough.

“Why won't you  _ fight back?! _ ”  _ he _ yells, and suddenly he can't keep that separation anymore, the rose-tinted glasses shatter and it’s  _ Gavin _ that’s so mad, so passionate and visceral, “am I not  _ worth _ it? Fucking  _ fight _ me!” Gavin drives forwards with punches and kicks, fast and graceful and suddenly Ryan’s remembering dancing in his living room with him, music loud and laughter even louder, how they were both so childish and happy. He remembers how the room lit up with Gavin’s smile, the sun set, the moon rising, silver and bright, incomparable to Gavin, sugar sweet Gavin, beautiful Gavin, the light of Ryan's life Gavin.

The slide of their lips together comes to his mind with each kick, each punch, each grapple and shove and desperate fight to  _ win _ . Gavin wants -  _ needs _ \- to win, Ryan can tell. Deep down, he’s proud of Gavin. Proud of how hard he fights, how  _ different _ he is like this, completely unlike the Gavin that is so determined to use his  _ Ps and Qs _ , the Gavin that leaves little gifts on the bedside table, or stays up with him when the night terrors are too bad to sleep through, coming up with hypotheticals until they both pass out from sheer exhaustion.

This Gavin is so different. Ryan’s so proud of him, but he doesn't like it.

He takes some steps backwards, nearly slipping on the rain slick roof they’re both on. There’s scaffolding all around them - some sort of gentrification project of the lower class area of los santos, Gavin always complained about it whenever they both drove through this side of town together - and Ryan ducks under some to put some distance between them both. He keeps his hands raised, palms open and exposed to deflect and counter rather than attack. He dodges a punch aimed for his head and a swipe from the blade directed to his gut, gulping and shaking his head to get the water from his eyes. Gavin seems just as plagued by the water, because he violently rips his own mask away, slicking his hair back.

Ryan chokes on his breath, frowning more. He steps away more, nearly stumbling across a gap.

Gavin is still so  _ beautiful _ .

There’s fiery passion in his eyes, hair messy and face flushed, he looks  _ divine _ . If there wasn't a knife in one of his hands and a gun in the other, Ryan would be opening his legs for him.

Isn't that how they had their last fuck? He laughs weakly to himself - 

“Are you  _ laughing _ at me now, you prick? Do you think I won't kill you?”

\- and remembers the fight, the broken mug against the wall. Coffee staining the newly-painted plaster and the ugly beige carpet, Gavin’s furious face. What were they fighting about? Ryan doesn't remember, but he can practically taste the toothpaste behind Gavin’s teeth when he remembers kissing him, gripping his hips bruisingly tight and accepting every bite, every scratch, every molecule of pain because it’s  _ Gavin _ , beautiful, sexy,  _ mad _ Gavin - 

Oh. Ryan looks down at his side. That’s more than a molecule of pain.

He stumbles backwards, hand pressing to the knife, blood seeping from the wound. He would say its a lucky shot if it were anyone else fighting him, some random mercenary barely managing to slide the knife into his flesh right under where his protective vest lays, but Ryan knows Gavin too well, knows he never does anything without some ultimate goal. Ryan falls to the floor when Gavin kicks him hard in the chest, breath wheezing out of him and head cracking against the floor. He scrambles back, gritting his teeth at the sharp pain in his side. 

“Did you think you’re better than me? Do you not know who I am?” Gavin laughs, sharp and bitter, “everywhere has their demon, and I've never failed, not yet, and I don't fucking plan on starting with you.”

Ryan stares, he’s happy knowing he’s going to die here, instead of by some stranger’s hand, he smiles under his mask.

Gavin crouches down, so close, if Ryan were brave enough he’d lean forwards and kiss him, kiss him senseless in the rain and make him all love drunk like when they’re kissing in the living room, in the kitchen, Gavin pressed up against something and gasping so prettily, eyes all hazy with lust and desire and his cheeks flushed ruby red. There’s a gun against his neck, the barrel resting against his adam’s apple, “did you want to die here? Was that your plan?”

Ryan shakes his head slowly, he lifts his hands and starts to sign, slow and deliberate movements,  _ to let you live. _

That seems to anger Gavin, he pulls back the hammer on the gun and jams it closer, “do you think you’re fucking funny?”

Ryan touches his side, looks at the blood shining on his gloves before looking back to Gavin through the holes in his mask. He reaches up with his clean hand, touching along Gavin’s cheek gently and wiping some blood from a split on his lip, gentle and attentive. Gavin’s eyes widen before he frowns viciously, ripping Ryan's mask away rough and hard, jerking his head forwards.

The gun falls to the floor.

“Ryan..?”

Ryan looks up at him, smiling tiredly. He watches as Gavin’s angry expression shatters, how regret and fear and pure  _ sorrow _ take over and he collapses forwards, straddling Ryan and taking his face into his hands.

“R-Ryan, holy shit,” he chokes on his words, gritting his teeth before pressing his hands around the knife, “why didn't you tell me earlier, you prick?!”

Ryan hisses at the pressure, tilting his head back and chuckling tiredly, “got distracted - you’re hot when you’re mad, you know that…” he twitches and winces, frowning heavily, grabbing Gavin’s wrist, “didn't wanna hurt you, I know-,” he grimaces, thumb over Gavin’s pulse, “-know how passionate you are, know you wouldn't wanna fail a job…”   


Gavin chokes a broken laugh, Ryan's not brave enough to look him in the eyes, “id fail every job for you, dumbass…” Ryan smiles, shifting and wincing. Suddenly, there’s hands under his biceps, pulling him to his feet roughly, “get up, we’re going home. I-I'm gonna patch you up, and we’re gonna fix this. No more lying.”

Ryan nods. No more lying.

\--

Ryan bites the inside of his cheek to hide a rather vulgar stream of curses when he slides into the bathtub, panting and kicking off his boots, “the big first aid is under the sink, s’got…” he tilts his head back, grunting, “cleaning, stitching stuff…”

Gavin nods and hovers for a few moments, hands flitting from the knife to his vest, “o-okay, fuck…”

While Gavin’s turned away, Ryan carefully strips his lower half down to his boxers, then ripping the bottom of his shirt away once his leather jacket is discarded over the side of the bath. He pulls his shirt off, then the soaked through bullet proof vest, leaving him naked and cold in the bathtub.

Gavin looks thoroughly shocked when he turns back around, but he doesn't say anything about it, “do you want me to do it, or do you want to, love?”

Ryan sighs out tiredly, tugging off his gloves and watching his hands shake, “you, m’a little too tired. You’re a hard hitter, you know?” he’s trying to joke, laugh off the situation somehow, but Gavin seems to balk at the comment, looking away and digging his fingers into his free palm - too soon.

“I'm… sorry.”

“You didn't know,” Ryan smiles tiredly, “it's fine. Just fix me up and we can go get some sleep.”

Gavin nods slowly before dumping his wet jacket on the floor, climbing into the bath and carefully straddling him. Ryan smirks softly, rubbing along his thighs gently before wrapping his own fingers around the hilt of the knife, “ready?”

“I should be asking you that,” Gavin laughs weakly, raising his brows high and taking a bundle of gauze from the box. He breathes deep a few times before nodding slowly.

Ryan looks in his eyes for a moment before closing his eyes and adjusting his grip on the knife. He counts down in his head,  _ one, two _ , before ripping the blade out. He throws his head back and practically  _ snarls _ , dropping the knife and gripping the side of the bath. Gavin’s hands press the gauze against his side, soaking up the blood quickly, and once he’s holding it down tight Ryan feels one of the hands leave, only to tangle with one of his own.

“I'm sorry,” Gavin repeats, tightening his fingers around Ryan's, “I should have noticed, o-or…”

Ryan shakes his head, panting, “I-I only found out by accident, you can't have noticed.”

Gavin frowns, “when did you know?”

“when I knocked your mask a couple weeks ago, maybe a month or two. I saw your face, just a little,” Ryan winces, carefully pushing Gavin’s hand away and checking the wound, “just start stitching it now.”

Gavin takes a suture kit from the box and frowns heavily, “you knew for  _ that long?! _ ” he pulls the gauze away, grabbing the peroxide too, “why didn't you tell me?!”

“I wasn't sure!”

“Christ alive,” Gavin shakes his head, “I can't believe you.” Ryan winces when the needle first goes in.

“Gavin, when people know who I am, they’re in danger. I… I didn't wanna put you in that position, not when you… not when you matter so much to me.” Ryan winces and flexes his stomach, “I don't want you to be put in a dangerous situation like that.”

Gavin frowns, “well, I'm just as tough as you are, if not tougher. You don't have to worry about that.”   


Ryan looks up at him, studying his face for a few moments before nodding slowly, “I hope so.”

Ryan watches the needle go in and out for a while, the methodical movements calming for him. Having something to do seems to noticeably calm Gavin down, too, so Ryan lets him continue with cleaning up, despite being more than capable himself. The gauze pad is taped down a little too tight, and the stitches are a little messy, but Ryan doesn't mind. He’s never been one for tattoos, be it names or pictures, but the jagged scar that’ll come from this is good enough.

Gavin stands and walks over to the sink when he’s done, and Ryan watches as he turns the faucet head slowly and washes his hands; the water is pink, pink, pink, before turning clear again. Ryan pulls himself from the bath with a wince, pressing a hand to his side to prevent the uncomfortable tug-pull of his stitches, and cleans up the first aid, then turning on the shower and taking the head down from the wall to wash the blood away. 

Gavin walks away into the bedroom with his hands gripped together tightly, and Ryan can't help but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> boys im really doin my best here but im like :/ at this so just take it  
> No unsolicited concrit please I'm sensitive :^|


End file.
